“Why, what did you take me for?” said I: “if I had known you were so nervous, I would have been more cautious; but—”
“Well, never mind. What did you come for? are they all coming?”
“No; this little ledge could scarcely contain them all.”
“I’m glad, for I’m tired of talking.”
“Well, then, I won’t talk. I’ll only sit and watch your drawing.”
“Oh, but you know I don’t like that.”
“Then I’ll content myself with admiring this magnificent prospect.”
She made no objection to this; and, for some time, sketched away in silence. But I could not help stealing a glance, now and then, from the splendid view at our feet to the elegant white hand that held the pencil, and the graceful neck and glossy raven curls that drooped over the paper.
“Now,” thought I, “if I had but a pencil and a morsel of paper, I could make a lovelier sketch than hers, admitting I had the power to delineate faithfully what is before me.”
But, though this satisfaction was denied me, I was very well content to sit beside her there, and say nothing.